𝐓𝐡𝐞 𝐆𝐫𝐞𝐚𝐭 𝐖𝐚𝐫 | ℒℯ𝓌𝒾𝓈 ℋ𝒶𝓂𝒾𝓁𝓉ℴ𝓃

♡ 𝚃𝙷𝚁𝙴𝙴 ♡

Lewis: I was terrified.

Mia: I knew he didn't have a dirty conscience. He just didn't know how much of it I knew.

Lewis: I went around thinking she believed I saw Nicole.

Mia: Of course he never saw her. Though I made him believe I was angry because of that "never happened" meeting or date.

Lewis: She didn't believe it? Fucking hell. It must've been something else that set her off.

Mia: I know he knew about it. I told him the moment it happened. And the moment something else happened. I probably shouldn't have told him about what we lost.

꧁ Mia ꧂

"Yesterday, I meant you can do whatever you want with the dinner you wanna make me" I tell him as he's putting on his suit. He turns to me and nods, already focused on the qualifications. Maybe because he doesn't want to think about what I told him in the morning while I was making coffee. "Lewis? You hear me?" I ask him. "Yeah yeah, I know". Bloody hell I hate it when he plays with me. "I'm serious."
"Yeah, me too"
"Really?
"What is it, Mia?"
"What are you actually thinking about"
"Question or affirmation?"
"You tell me"
"I have my mind split in two: you and the race"
"Me or the person you wish I was?"
"You're fiery today. It's not fair what you just said."
"What, I can't tell you things now? Answer me"
"I'm focused on the desire of winning and the flames that are burning my fucking mind".

I know what he means by it. But I can't see. The poison of jealousy is running through my veins, even though I should probably care about my health and not who he did or didn't go out with. I stand up quickly, open the door and rush out like a fire blazes in the forest. He didn't see her. He was out with his teammates. He would never do that. I keep telling me that because it's true but who knows why I don't trust the facts. I usually do but not today. It's like someone's telling me (my instinct probably) to be aware of the fact that he might've not been with her, but with somebody else. It's like a voice coming from a very far away place is screaming in my ears that he isn't trustworthy. That voice, that little small voice, sounds just like a child. And it makes me want to cry and drop on the floor screaming in my hands. I hold on tight to keys in my hand, trying to evacuate that thought from my head by hurting myself and feeling pain instead. I feel him touch me on the shoulder. I turn around and plant my gaze in his. "You alright?"
"Go get the object of your desire". It was the only way I knew to justify my actions: cheering for him with the estrangement that has always been part of my life. That estrangement that once again ruined the one good thing going on in my life. Because I was the one using it to defend myself, not the other way around.

I arrive before him in the box, maybe because I was speeding, maybe because he was still standing there thinking about everything. I kinda hope I didn't ruin his mood or his concentration: I would never forgive myself for that, I could never look at him ever again. I should tell him I'm sorry.
He gets into the car and he start his laps, driving like it's the last performance of his life. Bono lets me sit next to him so that if needed I can talk to Lewis, not that he would need my acid voice in his ear for the whole time.
"Your hand" Bono says, pointing to it with his head while doing something on his laptop.
"What about it?"
"It's bleeding"
I didn't notice the keys had opened small holes in my palm. How could I? I'm feeling so numb.
"It's nothing. What's with the red clover?
He looks at me, acknowledging my intention to not portrait the discussion about my hand.
"My son drew it. He's color-blind" he answers me, but I don't think I really listened him because all I hear is everybody panicking.
"Lewis's car is bouncing" Toto comes near us to take a look on the screen.
"Lewis, you're bouncing. Try to slow down". I look at Bono with the 'Like he didn't notice' on my face.
"I can't. The wheel's so heavy". I'm scared. I don't know why but I feel like it's my fault. Or, actually, I feel like I should've told him to not worry, that I wasn't mad at him or whatever. I feel like this because I think something bad's going to happen. It can't happen again. Not after this morning, when I felt like dying for the second time, but with the addition of his pain.
"What do you do in these situations?" I ask terrified, my stomach hurting so damn bad I think I'm going to vomit blood.
"Try in any way. You just started a new lap. You gotta go all the way around the circuit and then come in the pit-lane." Why can't he just stop? It's just quali-day, he won't be high in the grid but he won't be injured, or worse dead.
Next thing we know, his car stops in the middle of the path and is burning. Flames are coming out of the back of it and the driver is trying to get out. The fucking wheel is in his way and he's struggling to throw it away.
"Where the hell are the marshals?"
"They can't get any closer because it could explode". Oh yeah. That't what they told a very-almost-gone Mia. The engine could explode and he could die. That numbness? Gone. With the child. All my senses are on alert, wondering if they can do anything to help.
He's out. Thank God.